Ardour
by RainAndRomance
Summary: New York City. 1909. Corsets, ball gowns, carriages. And a certain Miss Diana Holland. Post-Splendour, Ardour sweeps us back the characters we love so much - to that terrifying Penelope, that irresistible Henry, that beautiful Elizabeth and that recalcitrant Diana. The balls, the calls and the nursery - for there are children among the parents now, and to survive, they must learn.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: In keeping with Anna Godbersen's theme that there is a short letter, diary, newspaper or book's quote, I have included a letter at the beginning. I know that this is longer than most, but I felt it was the best way to set the scene. As this is my first fanfiction, all reviews will be appreciated – even the bad :) I really hope you enjoy what I've done!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

_February 3__rd__, 1909, New York City_

_Dearest Diana,_

_Your pursuits in my dear Paris sound wonderful, and it is with much fondness that I consider my time in that beautiful capital – there is not a place quite so special in all the world! But, my dear sister, I worry for you, though I know that you are strong; much strength of will it must have taken for you to surrender your true love, for I know that even in the knowledge that I was impoverishing my family, I could not. Let me know truly that you are well. _

_My sweet Edith is now almost two, and though she is of quiet temperament, she is first and foremost a child and must be allowed to boisterous and active as children are. Darling Teddy plays with her in the evenings, and I during the day, but between she, Keller, Taylor and Savannah, we find ourselves quite exhausted. And here I blush, for I know must tell you that I am once again expecting – due in August. _

_My object in writing, I confess, was not only to seek after your health and welfare, but to beg your assistance. Please, Diana, come to New York. You will find it much changed. The nanny, I told you, I sacked because she was incompetent, but so am I. You always had such a way with children, and Keller and Taylor especially are anxious to meet their aunt. You know I would not ask unless in dire need, but what with Mama and Aunt Edith gone, and Teddy so busy, I'm quite alone and have few friends upon whom I can rely. Please, Diana. _

_Your loving sister, _

_Elizabeth Cutting_

It had been several months, or perhaps even years, since Diana had seen the time that was dawn, and thus she could not help but marvel at the spectacle which was so majestically unfolding before her – for surely, she thought, it must be for her benefit that the sun spread its rays out over the sea to stroke its surface and smooth its waves – surely it was for her benefit that the beams of light were reflecting off of Lady Liberty's torch – and if this was not a homage to her sensational return, it must, Diana decided, be a good omen.

Onlookers, most likely, would find it difficult to decide what was most odd about the strange young woman who gripped the railings, tossed her head back, closed her eyes and inhaled the sea air. Her hair, perhaps; shorter than most men's, the wisps barely touched the nape of her neck! Perhaps the satin trousers that hung so neatly from her waist? Or the alarming fact that she was a young woman on a voyage across continents alone – _without a chaperone_?

While indeed these things were bazaar, it was the strange look which her features carved out – young, but intense, defiant, but anxious, exited, but wary. And the intriguing glint in the eye of Miss Diana Holland; the idea that she knew something her spectators did not.

Diana had not considered the fact that she would not recognise her sister, but, she mused, ten years and four children may well age a person. This thought, in fact, only occurred to her when she found herself in amongst a bustle of bodies over whose heads she could not see.

"Sir," she said to a young man nearby. "I wonder if you would allow me to stand on your case; I cannot see, and I haven't one." She smiled sweetly, for though she had aged ten years as her sister had, she had had no children; besides, flirting was her forte.

"Certainly, Miss...," he paused expectantly, waiting for an introduction and holding out his hand to assist her. But Diana was not one to conform to expectation, and instead with a short, "Thank you," climbed onto the case.

The heart-shaped dace and porcelain complexion, which had so often been written of in newspaper columns, indentified Mrs Elizabeth Cutting to her sister. Two young children were at her skirts, unaware that the fabric they were clutching cost as much as the average New York labourer's monthly wage. A third child, a mirror image of the mother in whose arms she rested, smiled gaily at the hoards of people surrounding her, her innocence unaffected by their coarseness. Next to her stood her father – tall, smiling, and quite the dashing gentleman in his uniform - with another boy in his arms. It was son rather than father who wore the officer hat, and this scene which was so typical of an American family could do naught but induce a smile on Diana's face.

She offered a mere nod of appreciation to the man on whose case she stood, and delicately battled her way towards her family. Fleetingly, Diana realised that her dear nieces and nephews had never met her, but Diana was no stranger to brashness, and so approached her sister undaunted.

"Darling Liz," she said, stretching out her arms to embrace her sister. "How I've missed you!"


	2. Chapter 2

_An older sister is a friend and defender – a listener, conspirator, a counsellor and a sharer of delights. And sorrows too.  
_

Elizabeth Cutting was a proficient. She had, in her 10 years of marriage, raised four very handsome, well-mannered children, run a fashionable, stylish home, managed her servants with consideration and fairness, and hosted enviable parties – all without having even a hair out of place. Despite her proclamations of exhaustion and dire need, Elizabeth looked as lovely as ever.

It was with both pride and sadness that Elizabeth watched her children introduce themselves to their aunt; they were polite and proper, but their formality only reminded her that they had none of the intimacy that had existed between her and her aunt. They were introducing themselves to Diana as they would to a stranger – but of course, she was a stranger.

"I'm Keller, the oldest. I'm nine years old. How do you do, Aunt Diana?" Keller bowed slightly and adopted a pose akin to that of his late father. It was with a stab of pain that Elizabeth came to this realisation, because he was quite oblivious of it.

"How do you do, Keller?" Diana replied. "I do believe that you are the tallest nine-year-old I've ever seen!" Keller blushed modestly, but it was probably true; Keller had grown to be tall like Will, and, Elizabeth remembered, Will had been almost the height of her horse when he was nine.

"I'm Taylor, Aunt Diana. It's lovely to have you here." Taylor was quieter than Keller, more similar in temperament to Elizabeth than Teddy, but he was almost an exact reflection of his father in looks. This was not a bad thing, certainly, for Teddy was a very handsome man, but Elizabeth wished that he had inherited some of his father's boldness to make him a little less shy.

"I'm sure you're only saying that because you want to see the presents I've brought," Diana teased, winking at her little nephew. He giggled and, instead of making a bow, flung his arms around Diana's neck and hugged her. "Ah, and now you want them quickly, do you? Let your sisters introduce themselves and then I'll get them out."

Smiling, Savannah came forward and tugged Diana's hand. "I'm Savannah, I'm six. But everyone calls me Anna. Have you got _me_ a present, Aunt Diana?"

"Of course I have! And if everyone calls you Anna, then you should know that everyone calls me Di." Elizabeth watched in wonder as Diana spoke with the children. She had been entirely candid in her letter when she said that Diana had a way with children, and this was evidence of it. To see her children so at ease with their aunt was a relief; she had worried that they would not like her or would not want her in the house. As yet, it was quite the opposite, they seemed to be very welcoming. "And where is little Edith?" Diana asked, hoisting Anna onto her lap and pretending to look for her.

"I'm here!" Edith cried from her hiding place behind the armchair.

"Where?" Diana called, glancing around.

"Here!" Edith crawled out from behind the chair then stood up and waddled over to her aunt.

"No, no. It can't be. My little Edith is only two and you are _much _too big to be two," Diana teased.

"I'm Edith. Edith Caroline Holland Cutting," Edith insisted, quite in earnest.

"Of course you are, dear. And don't worry, I've a present for you, too," Diana winked. "Keller, if you would pass my bag, I'll get them all out."

Gifts distributed, Elizabeth was eager to speak with her sister. Sensing this, Teddy clapped his hands and addressed the children. "I have a wonderful idea. Why don't we go down to the park and pick Aunt Di some flowers? Mama and Aunt Di can stay here and talk and we can go ... for an ice cream." The children readily agreed, and quickly changed and left.

Alone with Diana in the parlour, Elizabeth rang for some tea and uncharacteristically kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. Diana gigged and followed suit.

"Thank heaven skirts are getting smaller- and shorter. I would never have been able to do this before!" Elizabeth said by way of justification. "But what on earth were you thinking showing up on the shores of New York wearing trousers?"

"Oh, these? A friend of mine made them. She's a seamstress in Paris. Quite practical, don't you think? Saves messing about with eternal layers of skirts and petticoats," Diana responded, smoothing them fondly.

"Certainly. But at the docks? With all the newspaper reporters? Your return alone is enough to set tongues wagging and pens scribbling, but _trousers?_ That will be the only topic of conversation for a week at least." Even while she was chastising, Elizabeth could not help but smile and see that her sister really did look very well.

"Then I've done the city a service. Besides, what is life without a little drama?"

"Easy," Elizabeth replied, though she was perfectly aware that it was a rhetorical question. "Are you still friends with that journalist?"

"I wrote him a note every Christmas and did a few articles for him every year, but it was more of a business relationship than actual friendship. We get along fine, but he's much too busy and I was more interested in having adventures than writing about them," Diana said. Elizabeth began to wonder if Diana had kept in contact with anyone from New York other than herself. She had barely been in society before she left – long enough to make herself quite memorable, but not long enough to make any lasting friendships.

"How did you like Paris, then?" Elizabeth asked, easing her sister in gently. It was not really Paris that she wished to speak of, but it was a subject upon which she could elaborate and which had few dangers of her upsetting Diana.

"I liked it very well. You know me to be a curious and rebellious sort of person, and Paris answered my every want wonderfully. There was just enough drama and adventure and excitement, and it was thrilling to wake up every morning with the promise of something new and unique happening.

"The French are more open to change and welcome a new era with open arms instead of stubbornly sticking to old rules. New York simply _has _to conform! Otherwise we will lose all our young women because they will run off to Europe in pursuit of a modern world!" Diana exclaimed, helplessly.

"Quite a speech. Bravo, Di," Elizabeth commended. "But surely not a reflection of your true sentiments? Paris, I will grant you, is a wonderfully diverse and modern place, but to call New York backward! Why, the very idea strikes me as insanity!"

"It is not," Diana protested. "Here I am, ten years later, and still we worry about newspaper columns, still we use carriages and horses as our means of transport, still we use letters to correspond and gas lights. What does it matter if we are the topic of a newspaper for a day? Surely it is an achievement? We ought to be flattered! Has no one here heard of the automobile? Or telephones? Or electricity? No, it is not insanity to call New York backward."

"Really, you needn't be so drastic. We have an automobile in our garage and electric lights in the upstairs bedrooms. There is a telephone at most of the large hotels, too.

" And perhaps we do still worry about what the newspapers publish about us, but that is our human nature, our vanity. Parisians have it too, you know. And pride. We all worry about what we think of ourselves and what others think of us," Elizabeth said wisely. She had observed human nature for years; had seen it, had understood it. Mature as Diana was, Elizabeth had always possessed a talent for perception and observation.

"I know," Diana said softly. "But that does not mean we must condone it."

Silence reigned for a few moments, each sister lost in her own thoughts. Elizabeth could not help but notice that her sister had only become even more beautiful during her time away, and wondered what the French newspapers had thought of her rich brown eyes and endearing curls.

"It's not really Paris you wanted to talk about, was it?" Diana said. "It was Henry. You want to know how I feel about him." Diana's tone was so thick with sadness and loss, so young and vulnerable. Elizabeth's eyes stung with tears.

"Di, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I don't want you to feel awkward or to upset yourself. Really, I don't have to know," Elizabeth said tenderly, taking Diana's hand.

"No, Liz. I've wanted to talk about this for so long, but I couldn't bring myself to put it on paper. I don't think words could do justice to the depth of my affection. And you're the only one who could ever understand. With Will, you know..." Diana's face was warped into the most accurate reflection of her present emotions. Her eyes were red and from them ran tears, tears of the cruelest kind.

"Diana, what happened with Will was different. He's safe, I know. He can never come back. And no one else can have his heart because he gave it completely to me before he died. Henry's still here, and you have to live with the pain that his heart, at least partially, is the possession of another." Elizabeth spoke gently. She did not want to injure her sister, but she wanted her to understand the situation as it was.

"Henry wrote to me every day in my absence," Diana said calmly. "My strength was not such that I could resist opening every letter, but I refrained from ever responding, though it pained me to do so. He never once received a reply. Three and a half thousand letters – more – without a single response and yet he never wavered in his writing. Surely this is dedication, surely this is love, I thought. If it is not, then I do not understand the words. If he had missed a day, forgotten or found himself too busy, perhaps then I could have forgotten him. But he did not. He wrote only of his affection for me, his longing to meet me again, his undying love. He never once mentioned his wife, or his family, or his fortune. Every year, on the anniversary of my departure, he sent me a ticket for a passage home.

"I know that I cannot ever be truly happy, because I cannot have my Henry. He cannot be mine. Almost every night I spend sobbing into my pillow because I know that Henry is only a remnant of the past, and that the past is where he must stay. He will only be mine in my memory."

Elizabeth breathed in sharply, trying to mask her face with calmness to disguise the anger she felt coursing through her body.

"Diana," she said evenly. "It is possible to love two people at the same time. My children are evidence of that. I love Teddy dearly, and he knows my heart is his, but this love does not undermine the affection and love I had and have for Will."

"But if I give my heart to another, I am betraying myself, and Henry, and the person I pretend to love. I cannot only love someone in part." Diana looked down at her hands in despair.

"You don't owe Henry anything, Diana. You mustn't forget that he is married and that it was he who first betrayed." Elizabeth's temperature was rising – and her anger. She was known to be a very calm, composed sort of woman, but her complacent veneer was wearing thin.

"He only married Penelope to protect _me_," Diana insisted.

"Perhaps. But it was not Penelope who prevented him from running away to Paris with you."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Considerably longer than the last chapter, I know, but this chapter I really enjoyed writing. I think anyone with sisters can relate to Elizabeth and Diana and will agree with the quote at the beginning. The quote is from Pam Brown who, in fact, was born quite a few years after this is set, but I really liked it. I'm sorry if I've painted Henry in a horrible light, but it had to be done. Please review. **


	3. Chapter 3

_Men err because they are selfish; women because they are weak._

Henry Schoonmaker loosened his tie and poured himself a well-deserved drink. It was unusual for him to be home so early but, it seemed, his company seemed to be doing wonderfully without him. Nonetheless, between that and entertaining his children and wife, he was exhausted. He slumped rather unceremoniously into an armchair and picked up the newspaper from the table. A timid knock interrupted him before he could even open the thing. Rolling his eyes, he sat up. A maid walked in and curtsied.

"Mrs Elizabeth Cutting, sir," she said. Henry's former fiancée walked in, quite a beauty and quite purposefully. Henry promptly stood and bowed. Elizabeth curtsied quickly in return.

Quite perplexed by his visitor's presence, he said, "My wife is out at present, Mrs Cutting. She goes to visit her mother every Thursday morning." He had assumed that everyone was aware of this fact – every woman had her timetable to which she almost religiously kept and it was the duty of other women to be aware of this fact.

"Yes," Elizabeth said coldly. "I know. That is, in fact, why I came just now. I came to seek a private audience with yourself." This was certainly unconventional; married women did not apply for private conferences with another woman's husband. Good breeding and manners, though, prevented Henry from commenting on this fact, and so he merely invited Elizabeth to sit. "What I have to say," Elizabeth said as she took her seat, "may be... displeasing to your wife. I trust we will not be disturbed here?"

"No," Henry said, hoping this single-syllable response did not convey any of the confusion he felt.

"You may already be aware, Mr Schoonmaker, that my sister has returned to New York," Elizabeth began, in a strange, almost distant tone. Henry nodded in the affirmative; he had heard someone mention it at work.

"I know what passed between yourself and Diana, both during our ... engagement and when you were first married to Penelope. Diana told me of her decision on the docks before she left, of your intended elopement, of your plans in Florida, of the ring you gave her. In short, Mr Schoonmaker, she told me everything."

Henry blushed at the realisation that Elizabeth knew every intimate detail of his relationship with Diana. Though his affection was genuine, he had hardly intended for it to be showcased to the world as if it were a Broadway show.

"It can come as no surprise to you then," Elizabeth continued coolly, "that I also know of your daily letters to my sister during her stay in Paris."

"No indeed, Mrs Cutting," Henry replied quietly.

"How could you be so cruel?" Elizabeth demanded in that quiet voice that exemplified more anger than shouting could have possibly done. Henry's head snapped up. Had he missed something? What part of his conduct, if any, could be classified as cruel?

"I'm afraid, Mrs Cutting, that I do not understand what is cruel about my maintaining a correspondence with your sister." His tone, he knew, was sharper than necessary, but really, the impudence of the woman – to barge into his home unannounced, to demand a private conference in his personal library and then to condemn him as cruel. It was not to be borne.

Elizabeth continued as if she had not heard him. "Your youth I could have sympathised, Mr Schoonmaker, your innocence, your subservience to your feelings. But your selfishness? No, that I cannot tolerate," she spat. "You monopolized Diana's emotions, you bound her to you – each letter another link in the chain with which you encircled her. You sabotaged her every chance of happiness, your every letter was another obstacle which she had to overcome if she was ever to be free of you.

"You could not bear for her to know happiness when you did not. Your ego would not allow you to let her forget you. Your vanity dictated that she would be no one's if not yours. It was your selfish means of solace which caused _her_ so much pain and which wounded _her _even while you found comfort. Why should _she _be punished for your decision? Why should _she _pay the price?"

If Elizabeth was exhausted or fatigued after her speech, she gave no sign of it. She had spoken with such rapidity and spirit that Henry could not believe that she was the same woman as the demure little debutante to whom he had proposed almost a decade before. And yet, it was impossible to not feel angry from the accusations she had thrown. She had condemned his love – deemed it a cruelty!

"Mrs Cutting," he began calmly. "My love for your sister was and is genuine and has survived her absence. You insist that selfishness was my motive. I declare it was not. It was love. My folly was the result of irrepressible feelings and if it has caused your sister pain, I apologise most profusely. But I must defend myself. One request from Diana to stop writing would have been sufficient to convince me that she harboured none of her previous love for me. Had she written in such a manner, I should have never written again."

"And so you will blame my sister? Because she was weak enough to give in to _her_ feelings? You made your decision, Mr Schoonmaker. Both when you married Penelope and on the docks. Diana had the strength to walk away, but even she cannot always be strong."

"I am sorry, Mrs Cutting," Henry said slowly. "My actions were irrational and, I confess, motivated by a selfish desire to never lose Diana. I love her," he said simply. "I beg your forgiveness."

"I did not come here for apologies," Elizabeth said briskly. "Mr Schoonmaker, while Diana is in New York you will not speak to her privately or make any attempt to contact her. You will make no reference to your former relationship and you will not make any advances to rekindle her affection for you."

Henry nodded, tears stinging his eyes.

"I am sorry, Henry," Elizabeth said softly. "But it's not only for her benefit. You know how Penelope is. If she suspects that you still love Diana, heaven knows what she'll do." Elizabeth stood and paused a moment. "If Penelope asks, tell her I came to issue an invitation to our ball on Saturday evening." She fished in her bag for the invitation. "Tell her I'd be delighted if you both came."

Henry smiled sadly. "Thank you, Mrs Cutting."

Elizabeth smiled and left. And then Henry could bear it no more. He took a long sip of his drink, then watched as his tears fell one by one onto his crisp-white shirt.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: The quote is from Madame de Stael. So here we see some fury from our otherwise phlegmatic Liz, and some tears from Henry, which I loved writing. To any American readers, I'm sorry if I spell some things incorrectly, but I **_**am **_**British and I simply can't remember all the differences. Again, please review. **


	4. Chapter 4

_And who would grace our streets once more but Miss Diana Holland? But perhaps she is not Miss Diana Holland any longer, and perhaps her souvenir of Paris is not a painting of the Eiffel Tower but a husband... All will be revealed, it seems, as the Edward Cuttings host a ball this Friday to mark her return. What will this new generation make of the beautiful Di?  
_

_-New York Times Gossip Column; August 2__nd__, 1909  
_

Penelope could not resist the smirk of satisfaction as Loretta stepped daintily into the front parlour. She had turned out quite well – an excellent combination of her and Henry, inheriting her high cheekbones and coveted figure as well as Henry's thick hair and easy manners. It would have been Penelope's greatest failure – and humiliation – if her firstborn had turned out to be anything other than perfect.

"Good Afternoon, Mama," Loretta said sweetly, adjusting the hairpins that kept her hat in place. "Where are we going?"

"You, Loretta, have been snubbed, and we are going to remedy that," Penelope replied somewhat cryptically. She smoothed her skirt and tucked a curl into her hat. "You see, sometimes, Loretta, we have to make people do something they don't want to do. It's ridiculous, really," she laughed, "for someone to think that the Henry Schoonmakers could be so easily dismissed."

"You mean we're going to the Cuttings'? Because I wasn't invited to that ball tomorrow?" Loretta said. Penelope glanced at her, quickly masking her awe with indifference. Apparently, Loretta had inherited more of her cunning than she had thought.

"Yes." They sat in the car and once again adjusted their skirts. "In high society Manhattan, women have certain responsibilities and obligations. Elizabeth Cutting has disregarded these obligations and has omitted you from our invitation to her ball. You are, after all, about the same age as her son, and so you really ought to be invited and offered a room if you become fatigued throughout the course of the night. It is the responsibility of a good wife and hostess to anticipate the needs of her guests and to compose her guest list with consideration."

"Mrs Cutting," Penelope smiled, deliberately addressing Elizabeth with her married name; Elizabeth would have to respond with 'Mrs Schoonmaker', and even after ten years of married life, Penelope loved to hear herself addressed as such. It was like a victory chant.

"Mrs Schoonmaker," Elizabeth said, and even after years of practise, Penelope could not help the smile that teased her lips. "Loretta." Loretta curtsied. "One moment, please and I will call Keller down. Or should you like to go upstairs to the nursery?"

Penelope suppressed a grunt. Really, it was rather uncomfortable for Loretta to be asked such a question. "I would prefer if Loretta stayed here, with me," she intervened. "We can't stay long, and Loretta is a little too old for the nursery now." Keller was, too, since he was older than Loretta.

"I quite agree," Elizabeth replied as she rung for the maid. "Keller often spends the day down here, but Diana is_ such _a bad influence."

Penelope almost chocked. "Di-Diana? Your sister? Here in New York?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, appearing quite shocked. "She arrived last week. The ball tomorrow is in her honour. You mean to say that you did not know?"

"Indeed I did not," Penelope replied, eyes wide. "Is she staying?"

"Yes. I'm surprised you have not heard. That is all that is in the newspapers have been writing about." Elizabeth broke off to quickly issue her instructions to the maid.

"Alas," Penelope said haughtily, "I don't have time to read gossip columns."

"Nor I," Elizabeth said. "My husband merely tells me what he hears at work."

There was a sudden giggling and thudding outside to precede the entry of Diana and Keller. Diana's hair was tangled and wild and her eyes – Penelope had to concede – were bright and happy. Her mouth was turned up into a smile and her skirts were ruffled and wrinkled and testified to her having been playing or kneeling on the floor.

"Penny!" Diana exclaimed. "How nice to see you!" Penelope was somewhat startled. She and Diana had certainly never shared any affection and given the fact that Penelope had used her behaviour to blackmail Henry into marrying her, Penelope very much doubted that Diana really thought it was "nice" to see her.

"Diana," Penelope replied stiffly.

"And who is this?" Diana continued, smiling at Loretta.

"My daughter, Loretta Schoonmaker," Penelope said, emphasising her daughter's surname.

"You must be around the same age as my wild nephew Keller. I do hope you're coming to my ball tomorrow. You must ask your mama for some of her jewels; Penny always had the best," Diana continued condescendingly.

"Oh, no. Loretta has not been invited for tomorrow," Penelope said, feigning indifference.

"How silly of me!" Elizabeth exclaimed sounding surprisingly genuine. "Of course you must come, Loretta. You can keep Keller company – and out of trouble." Elizabeth poked her son gently and smiled. Ugh, Penelope thought, why is she always so _happy_ around her children?

"I wouldn't want to impose, Mrs Cutting," Loretta replied quietly.

"Nonsense. I'm sure you will enjoy yourself. And of course, Mrs Schoonmaker, you and your husband and Loretta would be _most _welcome to stay the night if Loretta becomes tired," Elizabeth said.

"I am much obliged to you, Elizabeth," Penelope said. She was about to take her leave, though her visit was much shorter than it ought to have been, but she had fulfilled her intentions and saw no reason to tolerate Diana's presence any longer than was necessary.

"How is your brother, Penelope?" Diana said. "I imagine he's married by now."

Had she heard? Was she simply trying to mock her? Diana's face was the picture of innocence, but that was probably a well-practiced facade. How dare she? Penelope forced a laugh. "Oh, Grayson. Indeed he is married. He married that maid of yours, Claire Broad. Mama quickly disinherited him. They moved away somewhere... to Texas or Washington or some other obscure place. I don't know. We don't really talk." Penelope smiled tightly, irked at Diana's impertinence. Of course she knew. It was quite the scandal; Grayson Hayes, heir to a massive fortune, marrying a maid.

She had no dowry, no heritage of any consequence, no connections – nothing but an awe of the privileged class. The newspapers had crowed about it for weeks. And, of course, _her _name was dragged through the mud – "Grayson Hayes, brother of Mrs Penelope Schoonmaker married former Holland maid Claire Broad", "Penelope Schoonmaker's brother Grayson has married – a maid!" – to add to her humiliation. Grayson, consequently, was taboo and they hadn't spoken in years. But, of course, when their mother died, Penelope would inherit a considerable fortune.

"Really? Claire never wrote to tell me," Diana mused. Penelope rolled her eyes. Typical Diana thinking the maid actually harboured any affection for her. "But how romantic."

"I'm afraid, Mrs Cutting," Penelope said, "we must take our leave. I'm afraid we must visit my mother. We will see you tomorrow evening." Penelope curtsied, smiled at Elizabeth and Diana's responses – whatever they were – and swept out of the room, Loretta in tow.

Penelope scribbled a note and passed it to the footman to deliver: _Buck, Diana in New York? Come immediately. Why did you not inform me before? Tomorrow is her ball. We have much to discuss. – PS_

"Loretta, before you go upstairs, I wish to discuss something with you," Penelope said as they entered the parlour again, handing their hats to the maid.

"Yes, Mama?" Loretta said, seating herself delicately on the sofa.

"I want to talk to you about your relationship with Keller Cutting." Loretta blushed, a telltale sign that Penelope's suspicions had been correct. "There's no need to be embarrassed; I know there's nothing _romantic_, but I wanted to let you know that you should never allow yourself to become anything more than a friend to Keller and he to you, and also that you should never betray your emotions so easily. Your father and I could never condone a marriage between you two, it would be impossible given the history between Elizabeth and I, so tossing your affections to him would be a waste indeed," Penelope said.

"What is the history between yourself and Mrs Cutting, Mama?" Loretta asked.

"Oh," Penelope said with practiced reluctance. "I don't think I should say. But then, you are old enough I suppose. You must promise never to discuss this with anyone – not your siblings, your friends and especially not Keller." Loretta duly promised. "Elizabeth and your father were once engaged, but Henry preferred me. Henry's dad – your Grandfather Schoonmaker - insisted upon the engagement, and didn't approve me. Anyway, soon Grandfather Schoonmaker and Grandma Isabelle liked me very much and gave their blessing for Father and I to be married. It had become apparent that the Hollands – Mrs Cutting's family – only wanted the marriage because they had lost all their money.

"Father broke off the engagement and proposed to me and Elizabeth always hated me for that. She married Teddy, of course, but the Cuttings weren't nearly as rich as the Schoonmakers." Penelope assessed her daughter's reaction. Loretta merely smiled.

"I think you and Daddy are perfect together, Mama," she said.

"I think so, too," Penelope replied.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know that not much happened in this chapter, but there will be a ball in the next and that, I promise, will be fun. I'm not going to pursue the Grayson/Claire story, but I just wanted to put them in. In case it's not clear, Loretta is about eight years old, though she is to be very mature for her age. The name Loretta was one of the most popular American names of the 1900s, and though I don't think Penelope would call her daughter a "common" name, I think she would definitely set the trend. Please review to let me know your opinions. **


	5. Chapter 5

_**Rekindle**__: verb; to rouse anew, to cause to begin burning again._

_American Dictionary, Published 1893_

She was quite prepared – her hair beautifully arranged, her corset pulled tight, her skirts smooth, her make-up flawless. Tonight, Diana knew, journalists would be scribbling about her short hair, how well she had aged, her fashion. It would be difficult to remember everyone's name, and tiring to endlessly repeat just how much she had loved Paris, and upsetting to hear about everyone's children while she had none. But it was obligatory. Compulsory, really. And Elizabeth was so animated when she spoke of having a ball that Diana really did not want to show anything other than complete support and enthusiasm.

But if tonight was dedicated to selflessness, Diana thought, she could indulge herself for a few moments. She went to her drawer and pulled out her stack of letters. They were bound together with a ribbon – the ribbon from the bonnet that she and Henry had chased in the park all those years ago. She plucked a letter at random from the stack and unfolded it carefully.

__

December 24_th__, 1903_

_Darling Di,_

_Christmas approaches and I imagine you once again alone. The vision brings tears to my eyes. But then I imagine you swathed in red silk dancing in my arms, in holiday green, with me under the mistletoe. I hear your voice, singing the Christmas carols, and I feel your touch as you pass me a gift. As ever, I love you. My gift to this Christmas is my heart – again. _

_Merry Christmas, dearest Diana, _

_Henry _

She remembered reading that particular letter, because it was the former vision rather than the latter which came true. She had sat in her little apartment staring out the window, watching the children play in the newly-fallen snow before breaking into tears herself. It had been miserable, and she had felt quite abandoned. Granted, it was not an unfamiliar feeling during the time she spent in France, but it being Christmas, and Henry having predicted it, only magnified her solitude.

Diana only had time to sniff, and slip her letters back into the drawer before Elizabeth came to tell her that the guests were arriving. She glanced briefly in the mirror, shrugged and went downstairs.

Elizabeth's ballroom was enviable: gilded frames housed spectacular paintings, the marble floors were polished to perfection, the plump couches were a regal and the wide windows revealed a postcard view of Manhattan. People flooded the room, talking, bowing, curtsying, laughing. Yes, Diana thought, I'm home.

She had scarcely been in the ballroom one minute before a woman swept towards her. "Miss Holland," she said warmly. "May I introduce myself? I'm Mrs Margaret Bouchard."

"Good Evening, Mrs Bouchard," Diana said. Then realisation dawned. "You must be Leland Bouchard's wife!" She cried.

"Indeed. How lovely to meet you; you are quite legendary here, but I did not know you. I only moved here a few years ago, after I married Leland, so we never met."  
Mrs Bouchard smiled and Diana could not help but notice how beautiful she was when she did. "I imagine my husband will want to dance with you; he tells me you are quite a proficient. I'm sure it will cause a scandal – a married man dancing with a single woman, but I don't mind. After all," she leaned in with a sly smile, "it is quite flattering to have newspaper articles written about oneself."

Diana laughed. "I quite agree. I know from that comment that you did not grow up in New York. A New York girl would faint at the thought! Where are you from, Mrs Bouchard?"

"Why, I am from Paris, Miss Holland. I thought you would guess! Leland had gone to Paris for an automobile exhibition and then we met. Quite romantic, actually," Mrs Bouchard commented.

"I suppose I ought to speak French to you, but I'm a little embarrassed," Diana replied honestly.

"Diana Holland embarrassed?" a loud voice said from behind her. "I never thought she was capable of _that _feeling." Diana turned and found herself next to a now-moustached, now-muscular Leland Bouchard.

"Oh, Leland," she said. "How nice to see you. I was just becoming acquainted with your lovely wife. And she tells me she is Parisian."

"Indeed she is," Leonard said. "I hope you will not be too embarrassed to dance with me, Diana?"

Diana and Margaret exchanged a look. "Of course not." She offered her dance card and he signed his name.

"We should let you greet your guests," Mrs Bouchard said. "It was lovely to meet you."

"And you," Diana returned. "Have a nice evening."

Diana greeted each of her guests, accepted dances and smiled and exclaimed and gasped at all her former acquaintances' updates on their children. Even _she_ was a little shocked at the age of some of the men who asked her to dance; some of them were ten years younger than her! But, she considered, she was the novelty of the night and so they probably felt obliged. She certainly shouldn't think that that meant she looked much younger than she was. She walked to the balcony for some air – and peace. She had forgotten just how exhausting balls were.

She had seen Penelope a little earlier, sporting her trademark scarlet dress, intricate chignon, Isaac Buck and a new accessory – Loretta. Henry was not with her, but if Diana knew Henry at all, then she knew he would be with Teddy playing cards and drinking.

And suddenly all she could smell was his favourite brand of cigarettes mixed with the sweet smell of alcohol. His warm hand resting lightly on her shoulder, his fingers picking up a stray curl. And though her imagination was intense, she knew that this was all too real. She turned round. "Henry," she breathed. She flung her arms around his neck and buried her head into his chest.

"Diana," he murmured reverently. "Diana." Words were unnecessary; their emotions in their entirety were conveyed through that simple embrace. Ten years of regret and longing, of loneliness and heart break were remedied.

And in an instant, she knew that she had never stopped loving him.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not much to say for this chapter other than that I really wanted Leland to be married because I loved him in the books. I'll be elaborating on Margaret, I think, too. The ball will go on in the next chapter, and we will have much more Diana and Henry. Please review :)**


	6. Chapter 6

_No one keeps a secret so well as a child._

_-Victor Hugo, French Poet and Novelist_

Keller tugged Loretta's hand and dragged her into the cloakroom. "Here," he giggled, pulling a hat off a peg. "Try this on." Loretta rolled her eyes and reluctantly took the hat and sat it on her head. They crossed the room to the window where she could see her reflection. Keller laughed. The hat was at least the size of the platter the roast turkey had been on at dinner, and was adorned with stuffed birds and dry flowers and silk ribbons. It flopped over Loretta's eyes and sat lopsided over her curls. "You look ridiculous," he snickered.

"Be quiet, Keller," Loretta said as she angrily tore the hat off her head. "I told you. I don't want to play with you or do stupid things like this. I don't even want to be friends with you anymore."

Keller blinked. "But, Lorri, we've been friends –best friends – for – well, always," he said, his eyes wide and confused.

"Well, things change, Keller," Loretta snapped. "And don't call me Lorri."

"What's wrong? Have I said something? This is because I called you a stupid little girl last week, isn't it?"

"No. It's not. I just don't want to be friends with you. In fact, we _can't _be friends." Loretta put the hat in his hands and looked at him. Keller looked back at her, trying to remember anything he had said or done that could make Lorri hate him. And why did she think they _couldn't _be friends? "Goodbye, Keller," she said with cold formality. She ran her hand over her hair and strode out the door.

Keller followed her soon after, weaving his way through the guests. He considered various reasons for Lorri's treatment of him. She could be leaving to go to school, he speculated. That would explain why she suddenly felt she didn't want to play anymore, and why they couldn't be friends.

Keller looked around for his aunt Di; he wasn't sure whether or not girls actually went to school so he had decided to ask her. He manoeuvred his way through the skirts and coat tails until he caught a glimpse of Diana's emerald skirts. She was on the balcony. With this destination in mind, Keller pressed forward. The curtains were drawn, as they often were during balls, but there was a gap at the bottom and it was through there that Keller had seen Diana's skirt. He pushed the curtain aside subtly and slipped onto the balcony.

Diana was not alone. There was a man with her. The man was stroking her hair and she was holding his hand. She turned round abruptly, revealing the identity of her companion. It was Lorri's dad.

"Aunt Di?" he queried. He watched as his aunt flushed red and dropped her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Keller," she said. She walked over him, bent down and grasped his shoulders. "Please. Don't tell anyone." He saw the tears in her eyes. "Please, Keller. I'll explain everything to you, just don't say anything." She was pleading. Keller simply stared – first at her and then at Mr Schoonmaker.

"I don't understand," he said at last. "I won't tell anyone, I promise, but I need to know why you were here with him."

"I'll tell you tonight, Keller, after the party; now is not the time," Diana promised. "Thank you, Keller." She kissed his head. "Thank you."

Keller glanced again at Lorri's dad before slipping into the ballroom again. He walked as if in a daze, considering what he had just seen. He bumped past people and nearly knocked over a footman and dropped his handkerchief from his pocket all without noticing. How did Mr Schoonmaker know Aunt Di and why was she with him?

"Keller, darling?" His mother's voice jolted his from his dream.

He looked up. "Yes, Mama?"

"Where is Loretta? It is time for you both to go to bed, before the dancing begins," she said smiling. Normally, Keller would have protested and attempted to negotiate an extension or a postponement of bedtime, but his head was full of questions, and he would be glad for the time and solitude to ponder them.

"I don't know, Mama," he replied. "I imagine she's with her mother. I haven't seen her for about half an hour."

"But I thought you were playing together!" His mother exclaimed.

"She said –"he broke off unsure whether or not to go on. But Elizabeth was looking at him kindly and he knew she would worry if he didn't continue. "She said we couldn't be friends anymore," he mumbled. His mother's face twisted and he caught a flash of anger in her eyes – like a shooting star that sparked and then quickly disappeared before being replaced by peaceful sky.

"Very well," she replied tightly. "Nanny will help you find her and then help you both to bed. Goodnight, Keller, dear." She put her arm around him and ruffled his hair. He was about to walk off with the nanny when she bent down and whispered in his ear, "You'll tell me what's wrong in the morning, won't you?" He nodded.

It was strange, he thought, how his mother noticed almost everything – when something was wrong, when he was up to mischief – even when he was hungry. "I love you, Mom," he whispered.

It was late when Diana finally knocked on Keller's door – or early. He rose quickly from his bed and tiptoed to the door, opening it gently. Diana stood in her white nightdress with two mugs steaming mugs in her hand. She stepped inside and he quietly closed the door after her. She sat on the end of the bed as he turned on the lamp he had got for his birthday after having drooled over it in a store window. He silently accepted the mug and looked pointedly at his aunt.

"Can anyone hear us?" she whispered.

"No," he replied. "The other rooms on this corridor are all empty – they're the male guestrooms. What is this?" He motioned to the mug in his hand.

"Cocoa. It'll help you stay awake," Diana replied, taking a small sip of hers. "First, Keller, let me say thank you."

He ignored her. "Why were you with Lorri's dad?" he asked.

"It's a long story, Keller, but I think you should know," Diana said slowly. "It's only fair, I suppose. I won't ask you to promise that you won't tell anyone, but I would appreciate it."

Keller didn't say anything for a moment. "Aunt Di, I'm so confused. Please, just tell me. I'm grown up enough to understand."

"Oh, Keller," Diana said sadly. "You're only nine. You should still be a little boy and not have to know all this. But if you live in New York, you have to grow up quick, no matter whether you're rich or poor." She stared into her mug and appeared to be in a trance. Keller nudged her and she took a deep breath.

"You know Loretta's dad is called Henry and that your mama was engaged to him, yes?" Keller nodded. "Well, while they were engaged, Henry and I fell in love. We really did love each other. Loretta's mother – Penelope – she wanted to marry Henry. She didn't love him, but she liked his surname and his money. Anyway, she found out that we were in love and threatened to tell everyone – to sell the story to the newspapers – unless Henry married her.

Henry and your mother had broken off the engagement beforehand, but it would have made an awful story: Henry was in love with his fiancée's sister _while _they were engaged. Henry married Penelope. It was awful to see them together all the time – at balls and dinners and every newspaperman in the city cooing over the romantic story. That's why I went to Paris, and when Elizabeth wrote to me a few months ago, I knew it was time to come back. That was the first time I'd seen him in ten years, and I suppose I couldn't resist. We didn't kiss or anything – he's married, I know, but I still love him."

Keller studied his aunt for a few long moments. His mother had mentioned being engaged to Henry Schoonmaker. She had also said that she and Penelope Schoonmaker were best friends. It made sense now. Penelope didn't like his mother because she had been engaged to her husband. But it had never been entirely clear why the engagement had been broken.

"That's not the whole story," he concluded. "There's more you're not telling me."

"Yes," Diana replied. "But it's not relevant and it's not for me to tell. I've told you why Henry and I were together, and that's all I promised. You can ask more questions if you want, but I won't promise to answer them."

Keller thought for a moment. The confusing thing in the whole situation was why the engagement had been broken and why Loretta couldn't be friends with him. "Why did my mom break off the engagement between her and Henry?"

"She didn't love him," Diana replied honestly. "There's more to that answer, too, but I can't answer that. You'll have to ask her yourself."

"Alright," Keller agreed. "Loretta told me today she _couldn't_ be friends with me. Have you any idea why that may be?"

"Keller," Diana said seriously, "If Loretta truly is Penelope's daughter, I imagine you're in the way of a plot and she wants rid of you."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Now we see how Keller thinks and just how little he knows. I have to say, I quite like him. The first part of this chapter overlaps with Diana and Henry on the balcony as written in the last chapter and so when Keller walks in on them it's supposed to be only a few moments after their reunion. Loretta and Keller, I imagine, would have been friends, because Penelope is resourceful and wouldn't just drop Elizabeth completely – not out of affection, of course, but out of practicality. Hope you enjoyed this chapter - I certainly enjoyed writing it. Please review :) **


	7. Chapter 7

_Guilt is the price we willingly pay for doing what we are going to do anyway._

_Isabelle Holland_

Henry woke up to see his wife's hair sprawled all over her pillow, her face dirty with smudged make up, her mouth gaping open and her arms spread all over the bed. She was also snoring. Though Penelope would have the outside world believe that she was as calculated in sleep as she was in her waking hours, a decade of marriage and waking up to similar scenes had convinced Henry that this was not the case. While other men may well have been repulsed by their wife's unfeminine slumber, Henry actually quite liked it. Then was the only time that Penelope looked anything that could resemble vulnerable. She was, after all, subject to her inner human, but sleep was the only time she surrendered herself to it.

He tried to ease himself off the bed slowly so as not to wake her, but her eyes gently fluttered open at the movement. He smiled at her, a fond, gentle smile. He did not love her as he did Diana, but he did hold some affection for her. He swept her hair from her face and wiped her face with his thumb. But even as he did so, he could not help but compare the softness of her skin to the tough skin of Diana and the long black sheet of hair to the golden wisps. She was beautiful, he knew. But she was not Diana. Penelope had a manufactured beauty – one bought by expensive hats and moulded by experienced maids. Diana, on the other hand, emulated beauty in her carelessness; the way she allowed her hair to move freely, the way she allowed her skin to tan. Her dresses were worn to protect her modesty and shield her from the elements rather than to provoke jealousy and model fashions.

"Morning, Penelope," he said. He felt a twinge of guilt for thinking about Diana even as he touched her, but he quickly brushed it aside. Any time he thought of Diana – especially when he had written her those notes – he felt guilty.

"Good Morning, Henry," she mumbled in response. "Check on Loretta, won't you?" Henry nodded and slipped through the adjoining door to see his daughter's small frame under the bedcovers. The house was beautiful, he acknowledged, and he was happy Teddy had chosen such a lovely wife. Elizabeth Holland was not the kind of woman he wanted, but she was perfect for Teddy.

"She's still sleeping," he reported as he went back through to Penelope. The door opened and a maid came in, sat down a tray and left. He went to it and picked up a note. "Mr and Mrs Schoonmaker," he read. "Hopefully, you are both well rested – and Loretta, too. Breakfast will be served at half past 11. There is no need for punctuality as it will be quite informal – the children will be joining us. Sincerely, Elizabeth Cutting."

"Liz always was the perfect little miss, wasn't she?" Penelope mused. She giggled. "Or so we thought."

"Penelope..." Henry warned, knowing exactly what his wife was thinking of.

"Really, bumping off two husbands in just a few months, trying to pass Keller off as Cairns'. She even _named _him after the stable boy. And then marrying Teddy because she barely had a penny to her name." Penelope laughed.

"She married Teddy because she loved him, Penelope, which is more than can be said about you," Henry retorted angrily. "And she didn't _bump_ off her two husbands. One died in tragic circumstances and the other was a murderer who deserved his fate."

He pulled on a fresh shirt as Penelope sat on the bed her eyes dark and angry. He looked around for his pocket watch before Penelope indicated that it was on the chair by the bed. It was from there that he saw Loretta standing by the doorway, her eyes wide.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just a very short chapter to illustrate Henry and Penelope's relationship. I was looking at my Traffic Graph and it says there have been 112 views. I don't know how accurate that figure is, but it is very encouraging. I would love some reviews though? The next chapter will be from Loretta's point of view, and will hopefully be up soon. I'm not an expert, so the history may be inaccurate, but it's fiction and it's fun. If anyone wants to correct something, feel free. Please, review?**


	8. Chapter 8

_It is impossible for any woman to love her children twenty-four hours a day._

_Milton R Sarpinstein_

Loretta met her father's eyes and shook her head subtly as an indication that she would not say anything and a plea that he would not acknowledge her presence to her mother. He responded with a slight nod, and she breathed out quietly. Ruffling her hair and messing her skirts, she waited a few seconds then pushed the door open. She feigned a yawn, delicately covering her mouth with her hand.

"Good Morning, Mama, Daddy," she said, making her voice tired – as if she had just got out of bed. She took in the scene before her: her mother lazily draped over the bed and her father ringing the bell for the servants, yanking the chord angrily. Did they love each other? she wondered. Her father had said that she didn't marry him for love, but her mother had said that they had been in love even before they were married.

"Good Morning, Loretta," Penelope replied. "The maid will be coming up shortly to prepare you for breakfast. Wear the lilac-coloured dress and the white hat." No enquires as to her health were made, no hopes that she had rested well were voiced. But Loretta was used to this treatment. Penelope did not enjoy motherhood, and so any affection in Loretta's early life had been given by nannies or by Henry. Sometimes, she wished she had Keller's mother, who kissed him freely and teased him and always knew how he was feeling.

"Did you enjoy the party, Loretta?" Henry asked kindly. He was far more interested in her as a person than her mother – this had been made clear from an early age. It had been Henry rather than Penelope who had made visits to the nursery and who interviewed and chose the women who became her nannies.

"Yes, Daddy. I did," she replied quickly. She didn't want to engage in conversation, instead she wanted to ponder the product of her eavesdropping and decide how to tell Keller. She smiled and walked back to her room, absently combing her hair with her fingers.

The Schoonmakers swept into the dining room to see the six Cuttings and Diana eating breakfast and listening to a riveting story relayed by an animated Taylor. Elizabeth laughed before seeing them. Loretta smiled as Keller nudged his brother mid-sentence as an indication for him stand. She stifled a laugh as Taylor broke off and stumbled to his feet. She rather envied Keller; he had Taylor to keep company where she only had maids and nannies whose affection stretched only as far as their next paycheque.

"Loretta, dear, you sit here – next to Keller," Elizabeth smiled after issuing greetings to them all. How convenient, Loretta thought. She needed to communicate to Keller that she needed to speak to him, and that feat was easier done when seated next to him rather than across the room.

"Thank you, Mrs Cutting," she said, taking her seat. "And may I say: the party was very enjoyable. Thank you for inviting me – and for allowing me to stay the night." She glanced at her mother who was taking her seat at Elizabeth's side. If she had hoped for a nod or other signal approval, her hopes were in vain, as no such indications were forthcoming.

"Not at all, Loretta. You are always welcome here," Elizabeth said. "Why, I don't think you've met Diana, have you?"

Loretta shook her head. "No, Mrs Cutting, I haven't." She stirred her coffee and lifted her fork to her mouth.

"Well, this is my younger sister, Diana Holland," Elizabeth said, gesturing a hand at her sister.

Diana offered a wave before sticking her hand out over the table. "Hello there. Loretta is it?" She laughed as Loretta nodded and stared – rather bemused – at her hand. Surely, Loretta thought, she didn't mean for her to shake it? Like a man? Of course, she had seen her father do this with various colleagues, but never her mother. "You're meant to shake it, Loretta," she smiled.

"Oh," Loretta replied, shaking her hand loosely. "I hope you don't mind my being at your party."

"Not at all. Perhaps you would like to come to the park with Edith and Anna and I?" Diana suggested. "If your mother can spare you that is," she added quickly.

"Alas, no," Penelope sighed. "Loretta and I have some business at home today."

In reality, they were not going to do anything; Loretta would be confined to the nursery while her mother met with that awful man Buck or else she would be summoned to the parlour for a lecture on responsibilities of daughters.

"Another time, perhaps."

Pleasantries continued between the adults, nothing but a quiet murmur to Loretta. Her mind was otherwise occupied. "Keller," she hissed. He continued to butter his toast. "Keller." He had progressed to smearing his toast with jam. "_Keller!"_ She flicked her foot so that it tapped against his in a sharp-but-painless way. He diverted his attention away from his breakfast feast and instead to her, his eyes indignant and expectant.

"What?"

She cast her eyes down to her lap in an exaggerated movement. In it lay a note she had scribbled earlier:

_Keller,_

_First of all, I'm sorry for what I said at the party last night. I will explain everything. Please can we meet at your playhouse at 9pm tonight? I'll try to sneak out. Please don't tell anyone. Sorry._

_Lorri_

Keller continued to stare at her. "_What_?" Loretta rolled her eyes. _Boys._ She picked up the note, careful that it did not rustle and sat it on Keller's knee.

"Sorry," she said again.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter feels a bit clunky – it was quite awkward to write, to be honest. I know Keller and Loretta are both ridiculously mature, but I'm trying to take into account the kind of upbringing that they had, and also it's quite difficult to develop a story with them being very young – certainly far beyond my writing abilities! Now the threat: if I don't get any more reviews, I'll stop writing. I really want to know what readers think. Please, please review – even if it's criticisms. Thank you! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

_Somehow, I am advantageous to Penelope, and to protect my children, I must remain that way. Penelope cannot love, but she understands it – and she understands the lengths I would go to in its name. So all this smiling and pleasantness is not affection, but protection. Each smile a shield, each curtsy a helmet, each embrace a breastplate for those I love. _

_From the diary of Elizabeth Cutting_

"Why ever did you accept an invitation from Agnes Jones, Diana? You never liked her," Elizabeth said to her sister as she pulled on her gloves.

"I thought she was ridiculous, I never disliked her. And why are you complaining? You were said to be her best friend," Diana replied, smirking.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean I have to have dinner with her."

"Is that – no! It can't be! Elizabeth Holland being _uncharitable_?! What _would _her mama say?" Diana teased.

Elizabeth gave her sister a push. "I'm Elizabeth Cutting now, and you know very well what Mama would say. 'That girl will be a spinster, and a poor one at that. Don't allow yourself to become too attached.'"

"You sound exactly like her," Diana commented.

"Do you miss her?" Elizabeth asked.

"Of course I do," Diana replied.

Elizabeth smiled sadly. Though her mother had disapproved of Diana's behaviour at times, Elizabeth knew that she secretly liked her youngest daughter's spirit – preferred it, even. Elizabeth had been her father's favourite – he knew her best and he related more to her quiet demeanour, but Mrs Holland herself had been a rebel in her younger years, and Diana's rebelliousness amused her.

"And Aunt Edith."

Aunt Edith, Elizabeth thought. She was a woman with many secrets – most of which she'd taken to the grave. Her short marriage remained a mystery – at least to her nieces, the identities of her former beaux, too, her middle name had never been revealed – although the first letter was known to be V, exactly where her money originated from was unknown, and the occupation of her great-grandfather who had emigrated from England was yet to be unearthed.

The whole of New York speculated: her great-grandfather was a runaway axe man who ran away from England to escape the wrath of the families of his victims, the money came from her great-grandfather's employment as an assassin, she was once engaged to the President, her middle name was Valentina.

But for Elizabeth, the mystery was the identity of the man with whom she had corresponded until the letters stopped abruptly in 1875. The man who signed his letters, "Forever Yours, W.S.". The man whose letters she had found neatly preserved under her aunt's bed.

"What luck." Agnes Jones's lips smacked against her teeth, transferring some of her lipstick. "Me, having dinner, the two Hollands at my side." She stabbed around on her plate with her fork, chasing a carrot that was attempting to escape its fate.

Elizabeth felt sick. The meat was so raw she worried it would run away and the entire meal was showered with over-generous helpings of salt. Agnes's vulgar manners did little to help. She apologised to her baby for putting it through the ordeal.

"I say," Agnes remarked, loudly. "You're hair's awfully blonde."

Elizabeth suppressed a smile as Diana jumped. "Well. It's very sunny in Paris."

"I saw Penelope's daughter at your ball last night. She's lovely, ain't she?" Agnes spat out – along with half her food.

"Indeed she is," Elizabeth replied delicately, wiping her mouth with a napkin, hoping Agnes would take the subtle hint.

But Agnes was not one for subtlety. The gravy that painted her cheek remained. "I heard the Bouchards are having a ball. Are you invited?"

"We are," Diana smiled. "I daresay it will be very enjoyable."

"Yes," Agnes agreed. "And then the Schoonmakers have guests!"

Elizabeth's head snapped up. "The Schoonmakers are having guests?" she demanded.

"Well," Agnes said reluctantly. "I don't like to say, because Mrs Schoonmaker was talking to Priscilla Weston, and I shouldn't really have been listening."

Elizabeth feigned nonchalance. "Oh." It was cruel, she knew, to take advantage of Agnes's want for attention, but...

"I suppose you won't tell," Agnes mused aloud.

"Of course not," Elizabeth replied. "Nor will Diana." Agnes continued to deliberate whether or not she should divulge her secret. After a few long seconds of silence, Elizabeth resorted to lying. "Most likely Penelope told me but I've forgotten. We've been so busy."

"I suppose so," Agnes agreed. "Mrs Schoonmaker's brother, Grayson Hayes, and his wife are coming with their daughter."

"But of course I remember," Elizabeth lied. "Penelope mentioned the Grayson's family were coming and..."

Elizabeth did not like secrecy – in fact she preferred complete honesty. It was this that prompted her to confer with her husband on what they should do. She waited until he came home, then took his arm and guided him to her study.

Most women commandeered the parlour and the drawing room and allowed their husbands the library and the study. But Teddy had, upon their marriage, suggested that Elizabeth have her own study where she could manage the affairs of her plot in California. At first she had protested, insisting that she trusted him to oversee the oil extraction and hiring of labourers and whatever else was necessary. "Liz, I want you to have your own money and to manage it so that if I die before you, you will not have to rely on the generosity of an heir for your keep," had been his response. And the arrangement had worked wonderfully.

"Teddy, I have a question," she began. "Penelope has invited Grayson Hayes over. You remember that trip to Florida, when I found I was pregnant with Keller?" Her husband nodded. "And you remember how Grayson was with Diana?" He nodded again. "Do you think that's Penelope's design in bringing him here? To distract Diana from Henry?"

Elizabeth couldn't remember when she had first started biting her bottom lip – but it was most likely after her mother had died. Mrs Holland would have had to be quickly brought round with smelling salts if she saw her daughter with such an unladylike habit.

"From what I understand, Liz, it's Henry who needs distracted rather than Diana, and I doubt his brother-in-law – his _married _brother-in-law - is going to do that," Teddy reassured.

"But I just don't see why she'd invite him otherwise," Elizabeth wailed. Aware that she was being childish and ridiculous, she quickly collected herself. "I heard her myself; she didn't approve of the marriage, nor did her mother, and she was humiliated by it all."

Teddy was biting his lip, too. He started tapping his finger against his thigh. They had been married a long time, and had hardly been apart. Elizabeth knew exactly what the finger tapping meant. "What do you know?" she asked softly. Her husband looked at her questioningly. "You always tap your finger when you're deliberating," she explained.

"You know who else is coming?" Teddy asked.

"No."

"Davis Barnard."

"The columnist? But how would that affect Diana? She said herself she didn't really like him," Elizabeth replied, confused.

"You've not seen him for a few years, Liz. He's rich, he's handsome and he can offer Diana adventure," Teddy explained. "And you must remember, he makes his money out of his talent for words. He's a flatterer. And he's _always_ loved Diana."

**AUTHOUR'S NOTE: Thanks for reading! A few things to say: first, thank you to Snape9903 who reviewed – I really was giving up. Second, updates will be slowing down now thanks to school. Third, I hope I'm not the only one who suspected that Davis liked Diana – sorry if I am, but he's the only one who could possibly turn Diana's head. I found out, too, that "Loretta" means "triumph" which I was quite happy about – she was Penelope's triumph – a symbol that she had truly won Henry (forgive me if I'm clutching at straws). As ever, please review! :) **


	10. Chapter 10

_I have a secret, but do not tell! My feet will soon join yours in the ballroom of the Bouchards, my gasp will join yours as Miss Diana Holland roams Manhattan in trousers, my tear will follow yours as the beautiful Victoria Weston surrenders herself all-too-soon to matrimony, my coo will echo yours as the Cuttings welcome yet another child. I arrive next Wednesday at noon, my dancing shoes ready._

_Sincerely, the guest of Mr Grayson Hayes of Washington_

_- From the Gamesome Gallant Column, August 30th, 1909_

Penelope Schoonmaker was known for having guests several times a year, for showering them with gifts and for hosting balls in their honour. All of Penelope's former acquaintances prayed for the day that Mrs Schoonmaker would remember them, would invite them to her home on Fifth Avenue, and would make them the envy of the whole of New York.

Thus it was with causal indifference that Penelope accepted the thanks of her brother, his wife and her sister and Davis Barnard as they arrived in her entrance hall.

"Mr Barnard, I assure you there is no need for thanks," she smiled. "I am pleased to welcome you to our house. I am positively delighted Grayson thought to invite you. Positively delighted."

"I thank you, Mrs Schoonmaker. You and your brother are very generous," Davis replied. Penelope smiled again before approaching Carolina with outstretched arms.

"My dear Miss Broad," she gasped. "How well you look. You must be exhausted by your journey. Helen will be looking after you while you're here, unless you brought your own maid?"

"Indeed I did," Carolina sniffed. Penelope forced the smile to remain on her face. "I would prefer if Charlotte attended to me."

"As you wish," Penelope conceded masking her irritation with practiced graciousness. She swept over to her brother, allowing him to kiss her on either cheek, as affectionate siblings ought to. She bristled as the hairs of his moustache scratched across her delicate skin.

"Grayson," she said, with forced warmth. "How good to see you again."

"And you, Penny, and you," he grinned. Penelope's mouth twitched. Brushing her anger to one side, she took Claire's hands in hers.

"And Claire, what fun we will have here in New York together," she gushed.

"If you say so, Mrs Schoonmaker," the maid responded.

"You may announce us as the Schoonmaker party," Penelope instructed the Bouchard's footman. He duly did so, and Penelope, though swelling with pride, pretended to ignore the turning of heads. "Mrs Bouchard," she sang, approaching the woman. "What lovely arrangements!"

"I thank you, Mrs Schoonmaker," the Frenchwoman replied.

"And may I offer my thanks for the inclusion of myself, my wife and my sister-in-law in your invitation?" Grayson said, kissing his hostess's hand. She smiled in acknowledgement.

"Pray, Mrs Bouchard, have the Cuttings arrived yet?" Penelope asked nonchalantly.

"Why yes. I greeted Mrs Cutting only a few minutes ago," was the response. "I imagine she is in the ballroom now."

"Thank you," Penelope curtsied turning to her party. "Mr Barnard, would you be so kind as to escort me to the ballroom? My husband appears to be engaged in conversation with Mr Bouchard."

"It would be a pleasure, Mrs Schoonmaker," he replied, taking her arm.

As they wove their way through the people, Penelope casually observed, "Diana Holland has returned somewhat blonder and browner."

"Ah yes. Miss Holland. I had read about her appearance in New York donning trousers," Barnard replied. Penelope was no idiot. Davis clearly liked the direction of the conversation, and wished for its continuance. His infatuation with Diana was blatantly obvious, perhaps not to the bulk of New York's population, but certainly to her. And it was this affection that made him indispensable. His affection and his occupation.

"Quite amusing." Penelope choked out a laugh. "But little Di always was one to cause a fuss. There she is now. Allow me to reintroduce you." They slid through the crowd with enviable elegance and efficiency, and Penelope observed that Davis Barnard was not a bad catch. Self-made, of course, and perhaps a little rough, but a good catch nonetheless.

She approached Diana, making sure she aroused her attention – and that of those around them. "Di, how well you look," she offered, taking her hand. Ah, the facades one must maintain, Penelope thought.

"Thank you, Penny," Diana replied. "But who is this with you?"

"This," Penelope said, revealing her escort, "is Mr Davis Barnard, a guest of my brother." At my insistence, she amended mentally.

"Davis?" Diana gasped.

"Indeed, Miss Holland," he replied stepping forward to kiss her hand. "How nice to see you again." Penelope watched as Diana took in Davis's dark hair and blue eyes, his tanned skin and his high cheekbones.

"And you," Diana breathed. Then, grinning she added, "And much more handsome than I remember you." Penelope rolled her eyes. She herself had been a flirt, but never in such a blatant way as that.

"I'm glad you approve, Miss Holland," Davis responded with a smile. "I wish I could say the same for you, but, alas, you have always been beautiful."

Fearing she would vomit if she listened to any more, Penelope cut in. "I must attend to my other guests, do forgive me." Hastily she walked to the other side of the room. Her vomiting-in-public days were over – long over. The last time that had happened was almost 12 years ago when... when Elizabeth had publicly announced her engagement to Henry – with no warning, no thought for her friend, no –

"I imagine you think I'm some sort of charity case," a voice hissed, cutting through her thoughts. Penelope focused her eyes to see Carolina standing in front of her, her dress sadly reminiscent of the last season's style.

"Not charity, Lina," Penelope laughed. "Pity."

"I doubt you're capable of the feeling, Penny," Carolina snapped.

"I sympathise, to be sure, but I cannot relate," Penelope sighed airily, "as I have never been rejected... on my wedding day." The girl did beg to be teased, Penelope justified. She smirked at Lina's wide eyes and obvious hurt.

"How sad it must be," she continued. "To be a spinster, greeting the wife of your former fiancé. How happy they look," she concluded. As if pre-arranged, Leland planted a kiss on his wife's cheek who affectionately straightened his bowtie.

"If only one could say the same for the Schoonmakers," Lina retorted. Penelope inhaled sharply. How dare she? How dare that little sneak presume to know anything about her marriage? "Don't think I haven't noticed that our arrival is oddly correspondent with the return of Diana Holland," Lina continued. "And you should know, Penelope, that I don't believe in coincidences." Without waiting for response, Carolina curtsied and strode away.

Penelope closed her eyes. No one had heard. She didn't know anything. She was just a bitter, working-class girl. She –

"Something the matter, sister?" Penelope's eyes snapped open to reveal Grayson, his face amused, standing before her.

"Certainly not, Grayson," she replied.

"Scheming again? You always did have a nasty streak," he said.

"Run down to the kitchens," Penelope returned angrily. "I imagine that's where you'll find your wife." She marched over to her husband, who had just entered the ballroom. Her eyes still angry, she approached him, half-expecting him to be reeking of drink. She was relieved when, upon closer inspection, she saw he was sober.

In a rare display of affection, he greeted her with a kiss on her cheek. "Dance with me," he whispered into her ear. Penelope could not fight the smile which spread across her face.

"Certainly, Mr Schoonmaker."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: And so the Davis/Diana romance begins! Hope you enjoyed this. If you've any suggestions, please let me know – especially suggestions about what the new Cutting baby will be called. Please review! :) **


	11. Chapter 11

After what Loretta and Aunt Di told me, I've had a lot to think about. I've asked Mama for a "private conference" with her this evening. I heard one of Dad's colleagues ask him for that. Mr Davis Barnard is coming for dinner tonight – Aunt Di invited him. I've read a few of his articles since I heard, and they're quite good. Mama showed me some she had kept from when Aunt Di was younger, and I gather she was quite the rebel. Well, I must get on; Anna wants me to play with her. Sorry I haven't written for such a long time, it just seems silly to be writing about what you want to do instead of doing it!

- From the diary of Keller Cutting

"Mr Barnard?" Keller said as they sat in the drawing room for some coffee. Anna and Edith were both in bed, but he and Taylor had been allowed to wait a while.

"Yes?"

"I'm considering becoming a journalist myself," Keller admitted.

"Really?" Diana interrupted. "You never said."

"Well, I only decided recently," Keller justified. "Anyway, I was wondering how I could do it."

"I would suggest you write some articles – just about what you see – and give them to me. I could check them and see how good you are. If they're good, and after a few years of school, I could see what I could do to get you a job on the newspaper," Mr Barnard said. Sincerity rang in his voice.

"Oh, Mr Barnard," Elizabeth smiled. "That really is too kind."

"Not at all, Mrs Cutting. I'd be glad to help," Davis argued. Turning to Keller, he asked, "Have you anything I could read just now?"

"Yes!" It came out rather more loudly than intended. "Mama, may I go upstairs and get it?" His mother nodded her consent.

Keller, since infancy, had been an inquisitive and perceptive child. "Why" was his favourite word, along with "how" and "therefore". For a long time, he had thought he wanted to be an engineer, but more than that he wanted to write instruction books on engineering. But why limit himself to one topic? Journalism, he had recently deduced, offered a wide variety and diversity of topics. He could write about politics one week and hat fashions another with an article on ship building in between.

He rummaged about in his drawer, pulling out his draft of the article he had written. Abandoning all sense of decorum, he bounded down the stairs and into the drawing room.

"Here it is." He handed it to Mr Barnard who took it, holding it by the corners so as not to smudge the ink. He studied it, his eyes taking in every word. He gave no indication of his opinion, merely intense engrossment.

"This is ..." he breathed at last. Seeming not to know quite what to say, he asked, "May I read this aloud?"

Keller considered then nodded, blushing slightly.

" 'We are soon to welcome a new baby to our family, to our home, to our city and to our world.

'Into what kind of family will the baby arrive? A welcoming one.

'Into what kind of home will its first cries be heard? A happy one.

'Into what kind of city will it live its life? A diverse one.

'Into what kind of world will it be exposed? An unforgiving one.

'I see their envy as I walk past, and I hang my head. They stare at my shoes, at my jacket, at my hat. They want them. Not because they are the latest from Paris or because they are the most expensive fabrics. They want them because they will offer protection when winter creeps in to claim its months and summer surrenders her warmth to its cold.

'I come home. As dinner is served to me on porcelain plates and silver platters, I look at the faces of those who serve us – study them. Perhaps she is the aunt of one of those boys on the street. Perhaps he is the brother of the girl who held out her hand for a coin.

'A few days ago I had reason to pass the dock. I stood and watched as concourses of people flooded off ships, their eyes bright with expectation. They are the poorest of the British, arriving in America for the "new life" promised them by the British newspapers. Are they to be the ones serving me food while their sister begs for a coin on the street?

'As New York prepares for the coming of a new Cutting, I would ask of you all: make this world a better place to welcome him or her. When you pass the starving infant, give it food. When you pass the shivering boy, give him a coat. When you pass the crying girl, give her a coin.'"

Silence reigned as the last few words took their effect. Despite his childhood, Keller was not immune to the poverty that surrounded him. He saw the boy on the street as his equal, someone who could be his friend, someone who could, in fact, be him had his family's circumstances been different. It was that realisation that had prompted him to write the article. There was no pretentiousness, no technical genius, but there was a unique innocence and talent in the short section which penetrated the hearts of the reader with incredible accuracy.

Tears coated Elizabeth's cheeks. "Keller," she whispered. "That was beautiful."

"I agree," Davis said. "I wonder if you would allow me to take this to my editor? I imagine he would be very keen to publish it."

"Publish it?" Keller gasped. "I didn't expect – I mean, I don't – I mean – Well, I never imagined it would be published."

"Keller," Davis replied. "I think it would be a crime not to publish it."

Keller waited patiently in the library, reading a book. He tried to read informative books rather than just stories, but occasionally he would indulge himself. He looked up as the door opened and his mother waddled in. He stood up. "Good Evening, Mama," he said politely.

"Good Evening, Keller. I'm here for our private conference."

"Oh. Thank you. I thought you'd forgotten," Keller replied.

"I could never forget you," Elizabeth said. "I want to tell you, your article was wonderful."

"Thank you, Mama. I don't know how I feel about it being published. Happy, I suppose, but also nervous. I don't know what people will think," he confessed.

"What people think doesn't matter, Keller," his mother replied seriously.

"I suppose that leads into what I wanted to ask," Keller said reluctantly.

"What was it?" Keller regarded his mother. He'd always thought she was the loveliest person on earth – she never shouted or scolded him and she was always happy. It was obvious, though, that she had had her fair share of anguish. He had once or twice stumbled upon her merely sitting crying, and so he always tiptoed away, not wanting to intrude.

"Why did you break off your engagement to Mr Henry Schoonmaker?" he asked.

"What?" Elizabeth scoffed. "That's rather an odd question."

"Mama, please don't joke. Aunt Di told me you didn't love him but that there was more to it than that. What is the "more"?"

His mother's smile slid off her face. "You're old enough to know, I suppose, though I really did want to do this with Teddy. Are you sure you want to know?"

Keller nodded.

"Very well. Ever since I was young, I was friends with our valet and stable hand Will Keller. As we grew older, that friendship developed into love. When Henry proposed, my father was dead and we were in severe financial difficulty. My mother, my aunt Edith and Diana all relied on me marrying a rich husband and supporting them. Henry was to be the rich husband. I accepted him.

"But then Will and I realised we couldn't be parted. Penelope helped me fake my death and Will and I went to California together. Penelope wanted to marry Henry, you see. Will and I lived in California until Diana telegraphed us saying my mother was ill. We returned, always careful that no one recognised me, and were married in the parlour of my home."

Keller listened with quiet patience and curiosity. It had not escaped his notice that his mother's husband had been surnamed Keller. The smile that had appeared on his mother's face, however, soon faded, and he knew that her happiness after her marriage was not to last.

"We stayed a few weeks and then we were on our way back to California. But in the train station, Will was – he was gunned down by policemen who believed that he was kidnapping me. He was dead and it almost broke my heart beyond repair. But a few weeks later, I realised I was pregnant with you and it felt like a bit of Will had come back to me."

For the second time that night, tears coated his mother's face. Keller went to his mother's side and allowed her to cuddle him, knowing at least that she found comfort in it. At least he knew. At some point, their tears merged, as Keller wept for the father he never knew.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: A strange chapter, I know, but it just came. So, Keller knows pretty much everything now. Baby Cutting will be born very soon – as soon as he/she gets a name! Thank you to those who reviewed, and to those who are reading. Please review! :) In case you don't know how: go to , type in "Ardour" and click on this story and then on a chapter and press review. Sorry for the very long delay in updating - school has got in the way! **


	12. Chapter 12

With our sighting of Miss Loretta Schoonmaker at the Cutting ball the other week – quite the young lady – and an expecting Mrs Elizabeth, we are left to wonder whether our dear Mrs Schoonmaker will not want to make an addition to the family...

- New York Gossip Column, September 13th, 1909

"Henry, you're married," she said.

"I'm not – " he began to deny, but the reality was that legally, and in front of "friends and family" - and God - he had committed himself to a life of matrimony.

"You're not what, Henry?" Diana spat. "Not married? Need I remind you that that ring on your finger actually means something?"

"Di-" he stuttered.

"Don't, Henry, just don't." Diana turned away, away from him. He reached for her hand, his fingers grazing the cuff of her coat. She snapped round, her eyes blazing. "You made your choice, Henry, and I made mine. When will you understand that?"

Her voice was hard, without the usual trace of amusement or humour. "I had no choice, Diana. I wanted to protect you – I – I – I wanted you to be happy." His response was weak, he knew, but how could he explain?

"I think you've hidden behind that excuse long enough," Diana retorted. "That's why you married Penelope, but that's not why you stayed after your dad died. It was your own selfishness." She breathed sharply. "And that's fine, Henry. We're all selfish. You were selfish staying here and I was selfish going off to Paris, not even coming back when my mom was dying.

"But I didn't come back for you. I didn't come back to arrange secret meetings in hidden corners of parks," she gestured to their surroundings. "I didn't come back to pry you away from your wife and your daughter and triumphantly marry you – my victory prize. I came back for my sister, for my nieces and nephews and for me. If you'll excuse me..." she began to leave.

"But you love me, don't you?" he asked gently.

She stopped and turned. "Let's not confuse ourselves by adding love into the equation."

He stepped towards her and kissed her, memories of their stolen kisses rushing back in a powerful, beautiful wave. He felt the warmth of her hand against his cheek, the rough skin, the cold fingers – a sharp stinging. He stepped back, holding his hand to his cheek – she had slapped him, on the face, and he could feel her fury in the red mark that formed on his face.

"A reminder," she explained bitterly, "that you are married and that you must act as a married man, whether you love your wife or not. I must get back to my escort; he'll wonder where I am."

Henry watched as his wife put in her earrings, patiently waiting to take her down for dinner, as was their custom. But instead of standing as she usually did, Penelope turned round on her stool to face him.

"Is something wrong, Penelope?" he asked, covering his red cheek discreetly with his hand.

"Not wrong, exactly," his wife drawled, absently smoothing her skirt. "I just – well, I don't know quite how to tell you this..."

"Tell me what?" he asked gently. Henry's concern grew as his wife started sniffing. He went to her side. "Penelope?"

"I know you didn't marry me for love," she whispered. "But you don't hate me so much anymore, do you?"

Looking at his wife, so uncharacteristically emotional, Henry took her hand. "Of course not. I didn't love you then, but we've had a good marriage. We have a lovely home, a lovely daughter –"

"Well, that's just the thing," Penelope interrupted.

"Penelope, if this is about Diana –" Henry began.

"Diana? What?" Penelope said. "No, it's – well, Henry, I'm pregnant."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Cue dramatic music... Next up, Diana – we'll see why she's so angry with Henry. And is Penelope really pregnant? Or is this all some ploy to keep Henry away from Diana? Hopefully you're enjoying this – if you are, please, please review. Thank you for reading!**


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